


Grooming

by K_dAzrael



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-24
Updated: 2011-03-24
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_dAzrael/pseuds/K_dAzrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/dark_fest/"><b>Dark_fest</b></a>. <b>Prompt</b>: DCU/Batman, Damian/Dick, Damian has Dick marked for his own, when he grows up, and lets no one come between them. Damian's as young as you feel comfortable with; and Dick is unaware of his "little brother's" feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grooming

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: underage character having sexual thoughts.

Damian Wayne had never been confused about what he wanted in life, and when it came to the pursuit of his long-term goals he was focussed and relentless.

He was going to be the Batman of the future – that much was assured. For the time being, he was Robin and happily resigned to his apprenticeship. Although he had initially been skeptical about the former circus boy’s suitability, he had soon realised that Grayson’s trust and willingness to compromise made him an eminently more suitable partner than Damian’s monomaniacal father.

It didn’t take many years for Damian’s proprietorial instinct towards Grayson to take a turn towards the... well, ‘romantic’ was the wrong word. Damian had no interest in flowers and sentiment. Dick Grayson was _his_ , in all possible ways, and that was all there was to it.

He defended his Robin title from Drake and any other pretenders who might rear their heads, he privately vowed to defend access to his partner’s body in the same way.

Civilians were easy, of course. Case in point: Deborah DeWitt, heiress to a diamond dealer. Dick Grayson was not Bruce Wayne, after all, and he had a tendency to get moonstruck, to forget that the women were just his cover story. When Miss DeWitt began calling too often (and Grayson began returning the calls much, much too often for Damian’s liking), he decided it was time for action.

Robin had a talk with her in the persona of Dick Grayson’s bodyguard (the subterfuge was credible – the Wayne family had received so many threats after the big reveal that Bruce was bankrolling the Batman). Robin explained to DeWitt that it was really impossible for Mr Grayson to associate with a known criminal. When she boggled at this, he continued smoothly: “oh, did you think that daddy had done a good job covering up those shoplifting charges? What a pity it would be if they were somehow brought to the media’s attention.”

Her mascara ran down her face as she cried angry tears while Damian stood, implacable in the half shadows of the corner of her suite.

“You wouldn’t dare! I’ll tell Dick everything – how you threatened me.”

“This?” Damian said, taking a step forward so that his smile could be seen. “This isn’t a threat. This is just what I could do to make you a little... shall we say ‘uncomfortable’? Now if I were going to threaten you...” He reached out and drummed his gloved fingertips on the receiver of her telephone. “I’d just call the GCPD to tell them about the fifty grams of cocaine in the desk of your private office. Tt, I _really_ don’t think anyone will believe such a large amount is for ‘personal use’.”

“There’s no cocaine in my...” as the penny dropped her eyes grew round and frightened. “God, you’re just a child...” she whispered. “How are you so–”

“I am _not_ a child!” Damian hissed.

“You’re supposed to be a hero.”

“Oh, I am. I protect the virtuous. I protect them from harpies who would only hurt them. Now, take out your cell phone. I want to watch you delete his number.”

*~*~*

Superheroes were another matter, of course – not so open to outright intimidation. They did, however, have weaknesses when it came to self-esteem and over-active guilt complexes.

Roy Harper only needed to be reminded of his many relapses and failures before he relinquished his tentative claim. Barbara Gordon was a more considerable challenge and needed to be approached indirectly. So, Damian confided to Stephanie Brown his grave concerns for Dick’s mental well-being should he go through another disastrous attempt to rekindle the relationship on top of the pressures of being Batman – not forgetting to add the fateful codicil “don’t mention to Oracle that I said any of this.”

*~*~*

Damian kept his desires on a very tight leash – if once he had been impatient and demanded all his results _now_ (by means of furious kicks and punches) time in his father’s house had at least taught him to play the long game.

Damian had always had an aptitude for languages and mimicry, and it didn’t take him long to crack the strange, non-verbal code which was the primary means of communication in Wayne Manor – a language composed of barely-perceptible facial tics and the heavy, resentful silences between words. However, his being able to read them meant the reverse was also true – Damian knew that if the looks he aimed at Grayson were to betray the tiniest fraction of his true intentions, everything would fall apart.

Keeping a lid on his jealousy remained a problem – just why did Grayson have to be so tactile and indiscriminately affectionate? Was it necessary to be forever _touching_ people – ruffling the hair of his friends and slinging his arm around people’s shoulders (but not – hardly ever – Damian’s)?

Of course it was Drake – _damn his eyes_ – who eventually noticed a slippage. In an unguarded moment Damian had openly glared at Donna Troy as she laughed and squeezed Grayson’s shoulder in the conference room of the JLA headquarters. Damian’s lips were moving as he muttered a tenet of Sharia law to himself ( _‘as to the thief, male or female, cut off their hand by way of example...’_ ) and as he finally regained control enough to force himself to look away he caught sight of Drake’s thoughtful, surprised expression.

Damian wasn’t worried – he had prepared for this eventuality.

Several days later – with the global crisis averted – Damian was returned to Gotham street patrol. He was on a rooftop stakeout when Drake finally caught up to him to have it out.

“I know what you’re doing, Damian,” he said, catching Damian’s wrist and forcing him to lower his binoculars.

Damian narrowed his eyes and glanced downwards in contempt at the restraining hand upon his sleeve. “I have very little interest in your paranoid suspicions.”

“No,” Drake said with an adamant shake of his head, fixing Damian with that pathetic Batman-lite stare. “It _was_ a suspicion when I saw you looking at him. Then I spoke to Stephanie. I spoke to Barbara. I tracked down some of Dick’s old society girlfriends. So now I _know_.”

“Good for you.”

“It stops, Damian. It stops right this minute. I won’t let you keep poisoning his friendships and fucking with his head.”

“Always the goody two-shoes, Drake. Isn’t it enough that you stole my father’s affection from me?”

“What?” Drake had the audacity to look nonplussed.

Damian squared up to him, the tilt of his chin haughty despite the disparity in height. “It’s because of _you_ that my father can’t stand to be around me. By the time I got here, he’d grown so used to a cringing boy wonder who said ‘yes boss’ to everything that he couldn’t handle a son who actually thought for himself.”

“If by ‘thought for yourself’ you mean ‘maimed’ and ‘endangered civilian lives’–”

“You have _him_ , Drake!” Damian cut in. “The least you can do is leave me Grayson.”

“Dick isn’t your possession, Damian...” inexplicably, Drake’s expression softened – Damian instantly decided that this man’s sympathy was a thousand times more hateful than his scorn. “I know he’s important to you, but you can’t keep him from being with the people he cares for. It’s just the way he is. His love isn’t... a finite resource.”

“Is that what you told yourself? Admiring him from afar like the sad, affection-starved little prep-school boy you are. I suppose you were too cowardly to do anything, and then one day he was your _big brother_ and it was all too late.” Damian smiled, slowly and with relish. “How sad for you.”

The expression in Drake’s eyes went flinty again. “I’ll tell him.”

“You’ll tell him _what_ , exactly?”

“What you’re doing. What you’re planning.”

“He won’t believe you – no-one will. Twelve year olds don’t groom full-grown adults to be their lovers – it’s the other way around.”

Drake let out a humourless bark of laughter and covered his mouth with his hand. “My God – you really are Talia al Ghul’s kid.”

The soft footfalls of a landing on the furthest ledge drew their attention. Grayson came out of a forwards roll and began to walk towards the shadowed alcove where Tim and Damian stood, cape billowing in the updraft.

“Hey, what’s up?” he called. “Maroni’s goons move the stash yet?”

Damian stared challengingly at Drake, crossing his arms over his chest. Drake looked at Damian, then over to Grayson. His shoulders fell and he shook his head minutely before shooting his grapple line.

“What’s up with _him_?” Grayson asked, watching Drake’s retreating figure.

“We had a little disagreement.”

“Yeah? What was it this time?”

“He’s...” Damian furrowed his brow and tried to look doubtful. “I’m not sure I should tell you. Perhaps it’s best you don’t know.”

“ _Robin_. If there’s something wrong with Red Robin, you need to tell me.”

“He’s _sick_ , Batman. He... he watches you. He’s watched you for years.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I was accessing some old case files – I couldn’t work out why they were so heavily encrypted, and when I opened them I found...” Damian reached into a compartment on his belt and handed Grayson an envelope. The time and date signatures on the photos were forged, of course, and some of the content was shopped – the newer scars from Grayson’s naked back erased – but it was good work.

“I told him to leave you alone. To stop all this or I’d have no choice but to tell you,” Damian added a waver to his voice and hoped it wouldn’t be too much. “But he won’t stop – the fact is, he can’t help himself.”

•~•~•

An initial indication that the plan was working was the noticeable lowering of Grayson’s moods. His smiles became less frequent, and more strained; the circles beneath his eyes grew darker. But it was one thing to push others away from Grayson, a more complex thing entirely to unobtrusively work _himself_ into the space created by that absence.

In the early hours of the night of the showdown with Drake, Damian found his mentor sitting alone at the console chair, the cowl pushed back and his face buried in his hands. Defeat registered in the slump of Grayson’s shoulders.

At the sound of Damian’s boots he looked up guiltily. “Oh, sorry Damian. I didn’t know you were there.” He clicked to close the open window on the main screen of the computer – an old family portrait of himself, Drake and Bruce sitting by the fire in matching Christmas sweaters.

“Is something... wrong?”

Grayson forced a smile and waved his hand dismissively. “No, I’m fine. Ignore me.”

“So, you had it out with Tim?” Damian surmised.

Grayson stared blankly ahead. “He denied everything. He said the pictures were falsified. I might have believed him if he hadn’t looked so guilty...” he rubbed a hand over his face and swallowed. “And I... God, Damian, you shouldn’t have to hear any of this.”

Damian fixed him with a fiercely serious look and stepped closer. “You can tell me. You can.”

Grayson let out a long, shaky sigh and tilted his head back. “I don’t think I realised how... how isolating it is, this job – everyone just melts away. Tim was the one who understood, who I knew I could always lean on and now... even if we can make up somehow, I know it just won’t be the same.” As Grayson opened his eyes again Damian could see that they were red-rimmed. “That means there’s no-one left.”

“I’m here.” Damian leaned a hip on the arm of the chair, resting his arm across the back of it – just above the line of Grayson’s shoulders.

Grayson blinked up at him for a moment and then his expression warmed, becoming fond as well as sad. “Yeah. Yeah I guess you are.”

Damian shifted his weight towards Grayson, placing one knee between Grayson’s thighs and pressing his chest against the older man’s. Grayson stiffened and seemed to hold his breath.

“Damian, are you _hugging_ me?” he asked with a distinct note of incredulity.

“Tt. You think I don’t know how to give comfort?”

He could feel Grayson’s amused exhalation against his neck, then the firm pressure of hands running down the length of his back before the older man pulled him closer.

When he was alone in bed, Damian had sometimes permitted himself to fantasize about what would eventually be – to imagine that it was Grayson’s large, sure hands that were touching him instead of his own. Yet he found himself totally unprepared for the rush of adrenaline that came from the combination of the intimate heat of Grayson’s muscular thigh in between both of his own and the sensation of warm breath fluttering against his cheek. He wanted to press himself so much closer and to let the older man feel his arousal. He wanted to ruin his entire perfectly-laid plan by whispering it in Grayson’s ear.

Luckily, he had more self-discipline than that. Damian allowed himself only to touch their foreheads together for a moment, and then he slid off the chair and withdrew a few paces. His pulse still thrumming fast, he quickly turned his back to Grayson and leaned on one of the workbenches pretending to resume his study of a set of plans.

Damian heard the creaking of the chair and the next thing he knew Grayson was standing beside him, reaching up to squeeze the back of his neck with the textured palm of his gauntlet.

“Thanks Damian,” Grayson said, offering him a soft, unsuspecting smile. “You’re a good kid.”

“I’m your _partner_ – don’t forget that.”

 _Don’t ever forget it, or what it means._

A hot prickle went up Damian’s spine. _What it **will** mean._


End file.
